Icarus
by Suikorin
Summary: They were not even friends. They were more like acquaintances. He was Dante's brother. She was Dante's friend. Somehow, the brother and the friend became acquaintances with benefits. A VXL Story. Rated for controversial themes.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Something I thought of during my obsession with VXL. Why VXL? Because they could never be vanilla like DXL. This was originally one very long one-shot. So I've split it into several chapters instead. This is an attempt to use a certain writing style and also my first M rated story that I dare to post, so thus the overly long note.

Warning: Adult, controversial topics, language. Hints of depression and abusive relationship. Also, a little strange humor and people being somewhat out of character. Seriously, do not read if any of the above-mentioned topics offends you. Oh, and AU (since Vergil is in it, alive and well). This warning changes with the chapter content.

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and its characters are the property of Capcom. No financial gain is made from this fiction.

Rating: M

Title: Icarus

Summary: They were not even friends. They were more like acquaintances. He was Dante's brother. She was Dante's friend. Somehow, the brother and the friend became acquaintances with benefits. A VXL Story. Rated for controversial themes.

Chapter 1 - No Escape

They were not even friends. They were more like acquaintances. He was Dante's brother. She was Dante's friend. Somehow, the brother and the friend became acquaintances with benefits.

It was definitely an unconventional relationship to be sure. There was no sharing of interests, no pretension of courtship or presentation of tokens. It was a frustrating, sexual moment that struck the both of them at the same time and neither felt like searching for alternate avenues.

Their first time together left her aching and bleeding from between the legs. Their act was desperate, driven by a biological need and the lack of intimate touch for so long. He was unapologetically rough, and ignored the hitch in her throat when he forcefully thrust into her, his mind only on the feeling of over the edge. She was one of few women who is so sensitive that his rhythmic, painful thrusts brought her to release.

It was all over quickly enough. No drawn out kissing, touching or speaking. With both of their minds preoccupied with worldly matters, the innate desire for sex was an annoyance, like some sort of chore, constantly nagging in the back of their mind that should be quickly done and over with.

They used to wait for missions together before making the decision to have a quick romp. There was no wasting time in trying to search for the other when they were already at the same place.

Later on, both wordlessly decided to pre-game their biological desires and seek release on a more scheduled basis.

He visited her home or safe houses regularly, determining by scent alone which one of her many residences she was in. He would knock on the door. She would silently let him in. Then he would start undressing her even before the door was closed. Sometimes, he took her right there in the foyer, ignoring the hard floor and her hiss of pain. Other times, he bothered with the seconds it took to carry her to the bedroom, or couch or softer bedding.

When he visited her, he was always on top and in control. In the times that he lost himself to his demon side and flickered to his devilish form, he did not care that he frightened her or hurt her. He refused to demean this creature by being less than himself.

She visited him also, though far less than he visiting her. The same thing would occur, except the roles changed slightly. He would wordlessly let her in even before she knocked. Then she led him to the bedroom, clothes falling along the way. She was not rough, and indulged in some of what humans called "foreplay." She kissed him along the jawline, the ear, the collarbone down his abs to his heat, then rode him until both were over the edge.

The same thing would happen afterward no matter who initiated the act. After release, the visitor would quickly dress and see themselves out within minutes. It was strictly a utilitarian exercise to work off a primitive irritant.

If only their arrangement stayed so simple.

"I'm going on a sabbatical," she said one time, between gasps. It was one of the abrasive sessions where he visited her. She already felt sore but more importantly, more tired than usual. She had been sleeping poorly, could not keep food down and losing weight. As a demon hunter, she had to keep up her strengths by watching what she ate and getting enough sleep. None of her usual militant techniques of self-care seemed to work. How her physical body was failing her now was concerning and bears investigation. Perhaps, she finally got some sort of incurable disease and can finally leave this hellish existence.

He said nothing to that. As usual, he concentrated on sating the biological need. It did not take long.

She grabbed her underwear and quickly slipped it on. Since both typically focused on the release, she did not bother with removing her shirt and usual skirt on occasion. It shortened the time needed to re-dress before attending to the next activity. She saw him out, something she rarely did. What startled him though was that she pulled him down close until their foreheads touch. It was a rare gesture of affection. "I'll let you know when I return."

And she was gone.

When a month rolled by without news, he was not too concerned. She was a woman who took care of herself. It was one of the many traits that caught the attention of the brothers, after all. He simply ignored the mental image of her whenever he smelled gunpowder and blood, which in this business, was an almost daily reminder.

The second month without news, he spent some of his idle time looking for her by her scent. Her home was empty, so were her safe houses. Her motorcycle was present, but her car was gone. Her scent was fading in all parts of the city that he knew she frequented. The bartenders, the hustlers, the informants all said that they have not seen her in a while.

The third month without news, he tried her phone number, for which she never picked up. Feeling unusually frustrated, he finally said something about it to his brother at the demon hunting shop.

"Dude, you already know that she's not here," said the younger brother.

He had looked at his twin, deadpan, an obvious accusation of withholding information in his gaze.

"Look, man, she might talk to me more, but she actually tells me less about herself than you, and that's saying something. Plus, you're so god damn good at this head thingy of ours, I can't hide info from you even if I wanted to."

The excuse was hardly satisfactory. He was going to get a lead or there will be some damages.

The young brother made a face before going to a drawer, grabbing a pen and scribbled down a name and a number. "Here," The younger brother ripped the corner of the paper off and offered it. "This is Joe Ratner. He is the coordinator in a special jobs advertising agency...among other things. If there is one thing Lady is good at, it's at getting jobs that paid well for doing nothing. Considering how much she collects, she'll likely still be in contact with him. He can probably help you find her."

The look he gave to his mirror image was his usual cool one as he had gotten what he came for. However, something seemed amiss. Did his brother not feel some sort of disturbance to her absence?

"Me? Concerned about her? Yes."

The glib admission was expected but puzzling. The younger brother and she did live together for some time before she amassed enough wealth to maintain her own residences. It was hard to believe that with a woman like her, his gregarious brother did not pursue something further than mere platonic friendship.

"Love her? Of course, but that ship sailed a long time ago." There seemed to be a brief hint of sadness, a flicker of a painful memory. Whatever it was, it was something that his little brother refused to mull over at length, thus preventing the elder from knowing. Their private mental exchange only went so far. "What I know is that she selected you, of all people and consistently. Since she ain't complaining, who am I to convince her otherwise?"

There was a twitch of an eyebrow. Someone was playing detective here.

The red-clad hunter gave one of his annoying smirks. "I know because she reeks of you and you of her. And since you two disappear at the same time, it wasn't hard to put two and two together."

Had they really been that obvious?

"For what it's worth, I don't think anyone else figured it out yet. Plus, it is Lady. Either way, Your cold-hearted-bastard reputation is safe."

That's the irritating little brother he knew. Always mocking him, attempting to take him down a notch with petty words. The world was well again. He turned to leave the devil hunting agency store front.

"Hey. I know you can find her, even if she doesn't want to be found. Just...don't hurt her."

* * *

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading this. Let me know what worked and what didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

AN:Thanks you, Guest, for reviewing. I think you have a great idea! I won't write it that way though because that would be like stealing your idea. I don't want to plagiarize. That and I never played through DMC4. :( Much sadness, I know. Thanks to levi97100 also.

As usual, let me know what worked and what didn't so I can improve.

Warning: Controversial topics, language. Hints of depression and abusive relationship. Also, a little strange humor and people being somewhat out of character. Seriously, do not read if any of the above-mentioned topics offends you. Oh, and AU (since Vergil is in it, alive and well).

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and its characters are the property of Capcom. No financial gain is made from this fiction.

Rating: M

Title: Icarus

Chapter 2 - Wax Wings

* * *

Joe Ratner was a complete lout of a human who lived on energy drinks and women. Like nearly all the sorry lot who associated themselves to nasty demon hunting jobs, he was an unwashed, pox-marked, rail thin stick of a man, who dreamed of scoring it big with the most famous adult actresses by first becoming the owner of a strip club. The man also owned chains of adult video stores, produced several of his own films, claiming to have hours long session and maintaining a legendary hardness.

How did his twin come to know people like this? He really should convince his twin to mingle with evil sorcerers instead. Evil sorcerers could be cut down with cold precision and satisfaction. Killing carnal humans offered no such reward.

They happened to meet up at Mons Venus, another fine adult entertainment establishment that his twin frequented, it appears.

"Oh Dante," one of the nude dancers greeted him with an exaggerated gush. "I haven't seen you in a while. I love your new hair style! Do you want to continue what we were doing the back room last time?"

"Dante, baby! Come to mama and give her a kiss," a dancer with obvious silicon infused chest and buttocks, cooed.

Then there was the downright obscene. "How about we do something naughty with you, me and those guns of yours?"

It was a miracle that he did not immediately kill off some of the annoying humans.

Finally, after convincing several dancers and other patrons that he was not his boorish brother by nearly and actually breaking a few arms and kneecaps, Joe finally showed up, looking after his merchandise and customers. The lanky man had squirrely looking eyes that seemed forever looking out the corner of his eyes.

"Ah. There are you are, Dante..."

"I'm not him!" he quickly interrupted. If his stupid twin sent him on a wild goose chase for shit and giggles...

Joe caught himself. "On my! You're the brother! Holy cow shit, Vergil is in my club!"

This was the last place in the world he expected to find a Hindu adherent. At least these bozos stopped trying to get him to continue whatever his womanizing twin was up to the last time.

The human was still giddy over nothing. "How can I help you?"

He handed over a photograph. "I'm looking for her."

Joe took a look at the picture and immediately squeaked in fear. She had that effect on people. "You got a death wish or something?"

"For you if you do not tell me what you know of her whereabouts."

Joe felt the fear down his spine, but could not help but gave a suggestive leer, one that seemed to have the ability to infect people with a sexual disease.

One of these days, the elder half-demon would have to borrow Rebellion for a short period of time. There was no way Yamato was touching this boor.

"I think she's back in town, actually," Joe said, returning the photograph.

Sure enough, there was a card dropped off at his front door, with a time, a date and a place. It seemed that he had to wait a couple of days.

Time to go borrow Rebellion.

* * *

She was already at the restaurant by the time he showed up.

It was one of those restaurants with low lighting, plush seating, serving only well-behaved, adult patrons. Like most places, they served disgusting portions of protein, from lobster to steak, the appropriate high-calorie fare for half-demons. It was early dinner time.

She sat in the corner booth, far away from all windows, doors, crowds who could overhear them and in a position to view all activity in the restaurant. The booth table and table cloths obscured whatever weapons she was hiding so she could spring for an element of surprise if they were attacked. It was a practical tactical location, along with the meeting in public, which quelled both of their usual urges for violence and drama.

She was about the same as he remembered, except her hair has gotten longer, a little past her shoulders. Her heterochromatic eyes were still quite fiery, though muted. She was not as tired-looking either though she seemed thinner somehow. Her skin, which always seemed pink with a translucent quality to it, seemed more even somehow. She wore a loose billowy creme-colored shirt that seemed at odds with her usual style. The rest were hidden by the table cloth and his vantage point. But one detail was screaming at his face.

She no longer had the scar across the bridge of her nose.

He still stared at her, cautious as he approached, considering the possibility of a clone. He had enemies, that was for sure. But would an enemy dare to imitate her? Trish was made in the mirror image of their mother, after all, to fool their hearts.

No. This ebony haired human was nothing to him outside of a means to an end. That must have been the reason why her years-long companionship with Dante had yet to land her in the scrutiny of Mundus. There was no personal attachment and therefore, she was summarily ignored. It meant one less tool to care for.

When he got closer, all thoughts of a possible imposter vanished. Her scent was how he remembered her, flowery with hints of gunpowder and still faintly mixed with his own scent. Strange how months of separation she still retained evidence of him on her, but no matter. This was a genuine article. He would have to find something else to sate his need to kill later.

Perhaps minding that scar was the reason for her absence. She finally got plastic surgery and was too embarrassed to let others know of her vanity.

Typical human.

"Where have you been?" he asked, as if she only showed up to disappoint him.

"I've told you. Sabbatical," she replied, without any intention of getting up to greet him. She leaned back in her booth, her shoulders wide as if peeved that she even had to repeat herself. She gestured toward the empty seat opposite of her. "Please."

He looked at the chair, seemingly deciding if he wanted to go along with her implied plan. "We will be breaking bread?"

"Why else would we meet here?" she asked.

He considered her response. During the rare occasions that they had actually exchanged more than a few sentences, the act of answering a question with a question usually meant that some short of ultimatum had been issued. The next act would determine whether they continue this interaction or not. He had half a mind of walking out of the restaurant right there. His body, though, sat down in the chair opposite of her, willing to entertain this mundane routine.

They were silent, still giving each other penetrating gazes more out of habit than anything else. It had occurred to both of them that they haven't even had a meal together but had spent months screwing each other.

Truly. It was all only a means to an end.

The waiter finally came and took their order. He ordered a hard liquor mixer, with wine and a hearty steak. She ordered some sort of vegetable side dish and a water.

He figured her to be a cheapskate when it came to food.

"I'm paying," he said at some point, not even sure why he said it in the first place.

"Of course you are," she said in that naturally riling tone of hers. "The reservation was made under your name."

He suppressed the sudden urge to throttle her. He was not used to someone throwing his kindness back at his face. Many were only too grateful to experience his good graces.

"What I meant was that since money is not a concern for you," he said with the patience of a saint, "so you should order a main course. You're as thin as a waif."

She scowled at him. No one told her what to do. "No."

He called the waiter back anyways and order his dinner companion some sort of fancy-sounding fish dish and an appropriately paired wine. This pesky and permanently angry woman seemed like the type who watched her calorie intake even though neither had actually seen the other eat. Plus, since they bothered to continue this pretense, she shall enjoy the food as her part of this miserable ritual.

What a nonsensical female. Now she looked even more pissed off and seemed to renew an internal vow of silence for the evening.

She was still scowling at him when the drinks came. He quickly drained the liquor but left the wine for the dinner. She barely sipped her water and completely ignored her wine. The liquor did not seem to improve his mood. Her mood was not going to improve anytime soon.

The entrées could not have come faster. They ate in silence. Well, more like he ate while she nibbled on the vegetable side-dish she ordered earlier, completely ignoring the seared tuna steak with sesame pilaf. She picked at the broccoli, carrots and zucchini, rearranging the overly healthy things by color like the food was some sort of child's puzzle. He quickly cut through his nearly raw steak and make a show of eating properly, watching her every move for some hint of a quick end to this experience.

It was an unusual situation, to be sure. Both of them barely tolerated wasting time. Spending an hour on a dinner when the same bodily need for sustenance could be satisfied within minutes was an abhorrence to their need for efficiency.

Suddenly, without warning, she grabbed her napkin cloth and press it to her lips. Her back heaved and there was a choking sound from her throat.

"Excuse me," she barely mumbled from the corner of her mouth as she quickly scooted out of her seat.

When she stood up to make a run to the bathroom, he nearly did a double take.

She always had an enviable flat stomach. One that could have made her money in some sort of athletic training or modeling media.

Except it was no longer flat.

Despite her loose billowy shirt, he could see that her lower abdomen was notably distended. Her movements were altered also, with her center of mass clearly lower than he remembered. On an ordinary person, the slight bump could be dismissed as being an average human with a little belly fat. She was not ordinary.

Everything that happened started to click into place. So that was why he still sensed the faint scent of Sparda on her despite the months that they had not been intimate. She had something within her that was half his and technically a quarter of the Legendary Dark Knight.

When she came back, she looked slightly haggard. He could understand why now she appeared to be thinner to him. He had heard that females, particularly humans, suffered all sorts of ailments when they are carrying. She probably had not been keeping much food down either. He looked at her side of the table, with that plate of tuna fish and the untouched wine.

No wonder she was pissed off. She probably could not eat any of it.

"This? This is the reason why you left in the first place?" he found himself asking. Feel an anger rising in him.

"Initially, no," she said with her usual brisk, business-like voice. "I thought I was ill, and needed time to be treated."

Practical to a fault, but still did not excuse her lack of notification. "Why was I not informed immediately?" he asked.

"Irony," she said. Then look at the expression on his face, she further explained in a neutral tone. "I wanted to exterminate all demons and yet, I'm carrying one myself. I never wanted a child. I can't imagine myself as a mother. We're not married. I kill demons for a living. There aren't doctors trained for something like this. It represents everything I stood against. I'm sure you understand why I needed the time to think it over."

He gazed at her then, still mentally processing the initial illogical stab of emotions. It was a confounding moment for him. They had never exchanged vows of dedication to each other. They were free to do as they chose. So why did he feel a certain level of betrayal?

"We've used protection," he found himself hissing underneath his breath, as if this was all her doing.

She shrugged at that. "I'm sure it worked, for a while, at least."

They were silent again. At least, this time, they were not glaring holes into each other's heads. She continued to poke at her food. He had the waiter take his empty plate away. The minutes of silence felt like hours. It allowed both precious more time to think.

"What are your next steps?" he finally asked, logic returning.

"We're in it, right now," she replied. She finally pushed her plate away. She was not going to keep the food down anyway. "I would like to know what you wish to do."

"And after that?"

She looked at him squarely in the eyes. Her tone was cool. "Then I can decide whether to take it out or not."

He raised a brow at her response. He had always known her to have erratic reasoning, but the ease of her words seemed unusual for a human female. Shouldn't she be happy at the prospect of a youngling? It never made any sense to him but almost all females he had encountered took particular interest in the little spawns. Then again, this woman was no ordinary human and could be more ruthless than a demoness. "You would consider such action?" he asked, curious.

"What kind of future can this **thing** have?" she asked rhetorically, disgust barely beneath the surface. "It's not even about the level of screw-up that we are now, or our pasts, or our wants, or our current enemies. It's also the Sparda and Priestess legacies. The ingredients that sealed the largest stable portal to the demon world, Temen-ni-gru, will be distilled to one person who will be weak and vulnerable for at least a couple of decades. And what after that? You two are on a hit list since you were born. There are still wackos who come after me for whatever reason. It will experience a life of certain pain. I work to prevent chaos, not create it."

Ah. Cold logical conclusions. Exactly what he expected from her.

"Ending it now will be a mercy," she mumbled. Her tone, however, held a hint of dislike. "For all of us."

"What of the other option?" he asked.

Her usual combative-default returned. "I'm here to solicit your opinions. Not mine."

"Indulge me." Upon seeing her hesitance, he added, "We have never been less than who we are to each other. No reason to stop now."

The words seemed to strike her. Their experiences with each other were like that, so far. They were unabashed in the display of their selfish drives and desires. They simply took what they wanted out of each other without the usual attachments. There was no preconception that one owed the other anything. There was no judgment of right or wrong.

She looked away and laughed, more like a sneer, at herself. She covered her eyes and shook her head. "White picket fences," she finally said.

"Pardon?"

"White picket fences," she repeated again, getting her bearings again. She seemed sheepish. "A normal house, with a yard, a dog, three children, a husband, and a white picket fence. Holiday observances like getting the family together for Thanksgivings, shooting off fireworks on New Years, presents for Christmas, cake for birthdays and eating together at the dining table. Crap that I used to mock other women for wanting, and neither one of us can tolerate for long."

The silence after she spoke dragged on for eons as he thought of the appropriate words for the next moment.

"I didn't think you wanted the normal human experience."

"I still don't," she said, looking down now, her fingers laced together, covering the slightly swollen lower abdomen. "It seemed wrong to force the consequences of my circumstances on something whose only sin is existence. But what of the consequence of its existence on us? I don't want to be tied down. And neither do you."

Another time wasting silence came between them. Honestly, sometimes he wished that they had some sort of telepathic ability so he did not have to expand the mental energy to distil nuanced thoughts into inadequate words.

"You seemed to assume that I wish to do anything with it," he finally said with more coldness than he intended.

She bristled at that response, seemingly taking in a world of implied meaning. Then she smiled back at him just as coldly. "Thank you. You've just confirmed for me the correct decision."

"Which one is that?"

She methodically folded her napkin back together and placed her silverware nearly on her barely touched food, indicating that she was done. Her next words were firm.

"Mercy, for all of us."


End file.
